Last Friday Night
by AxelFlurryofDancingFlames
Summary: Blaine's been drunk before, but he can't remember having ever gone quite this far. Based on spoilers for The First Time. Klaine.


Just a little song fic type of thing I originally started to tide me over until Glee got back on air, that ended up really rushed at the end because I realized I needed to finish it before the episode aired. Just enjoy!

No real warnings. The couple is Klaine. I do not own Glee.

* * *

><p><em>Last Friday night<em>

Blaine can only remember the night before in snippets.

His car had been with him, right? Kurt had, too, hadn't he? More importantly, where was he?

The sun is in his eyes all the sudden, burning his them and splitting his head open. He is outside. He is outside, on a bench somewhere. Great. Sure, he had been drunk before, and, sure, he had woken up in a strange place before, but never _outside_.

Sometimes he really wishes he could hold his liquor better.

He jumps up and doubles over, his already queasy stomach turned by his sudden movement. He can't stop, though; he has to find Kurt and get home. If only he knew what had happened with Kurt… He remembers driving with him, but… Damn. He holds his head, stumbling forward. What if he had pissed him off? What if he had kissed Rachel Berry all over again? Last time, they hadn't been dating, but this time… What if he screwed up his relationship with the guy he loved?

He lets go of his head, trying to make his steps more sure, trying to grasp at the snippets. If he could remember them, he could find a place to go back to, and hopefully find Kurt.

* * *

><p><em>Yeah we danced on tabletops <em>

"This place is amazing," Blaine had whispered to Kurt as they entered the gay bar. "We haven't been to anything like this since Rachel's party. Remember that? It was a disaster!" He laughed, running his hand all over his boyfriend's back, liking the freedom to touch his boyfriend somewhere public.

Kurt's eyes were wide as he took it all in, which only made Blaine laugh more.

"What? You okay?"

Kurt's face still didn't relax, "It's just…" he lowered his voice, "I've never really been around other gay people. There's you, and Karofsky- who isn't even out of the closet- and, well, you." He looked around, expression softened. "This place is amazing. They're even playing our songs!" He took Blaine's hands in his.

"Let's do this."

The first thing they had done was dance- not socialize, not drink, not participate in any of the various shows or activities the bar offered. Their hands ran over each other, dancing like they hadn't at prom, not just jumping around, but jumping around with each other, grinding and caressing and in time with each other. In public. If a bar with no one you knew in it could be called public.

They didn't care, though. It was fun, others joining them, jumping on bar tables, singing stupid not-quite-drunken karaoke.

It was even better than Dalton, or any party any of their friends had held.

They belonged.

And, at first, it had been amazing.

* * *

><p><em>And we took too many shots<em>

After they had gotten tired and sweaty, the couple's incessant leaning on each other having nothing to do with alcohol, they actually took a look around. It was large, larger than either of them had imagined, and packed, too.

"Look," Blaine had pointed to the back, raising an eyebrow, his head on his boyfriend's, "They have rooms in the back."

Kurt rolled his eyes, nuzzling his head against Blaine's, since it was already there. "And I suppose we're going to get one?"

Blaine laughed, his nose crinkling and eyes squinting, "They're probably for the entertainment to get ready, though I'm sure at least someone's abused them. I mean, come on!" He pointed again, "They're just right there!"

They stopped their journey, both of their breathing having slowed a little, and their sweat dried a little, their faces not quite as red and bodies not quite so leany, having taken a full circle around the place. The bar was now to their right- exactly like how they looked in movies- a long strip with stools, people laughing and flirting and bawling and "flagging" bartenders. There were only two stools left empty- both at the extreme left.

"C'mon." Blaine had started it, dragging Kurt in the direction of the stools, "Let's sit. I'm beat."

That was all they had used the stools for at first, too. Instead of leaning on each other they leaned on the counter, pointing at the other customers and giggling. They praised or made fun of clothing choices or behavior, holding hands and sprinkling kisses on each other.

"You all new?"

The bartender eventually made his way to them, though.

Kurt had answered, nodding, his face blissfully happy, "I just turned 21, and I didn't trust him here on his own, so he had to wait for me." That was supported by their I.D's.

"Hey," Blaine gave Kurt a playful slap, and they all laughed.

"Well, while you all are here you want to have some real fun? I'll give you all half off since you're new." He gave them a toothy smile, his voice smooth and charismatic, the mark of a true businessman.

Blaine hadn't gotten drunk in months. He hadn't really, truly gotten stoned since Rachel's party.

But this was a special occasion, and he pulled out his wallet, putting a hand on Kurt's arm.

"Do you want me to pay for you?"

Kurt threw up his hands, "tsking", "Not me. I'm the designated driver. I just want a little."

"If you're sure… I can drive, Kurt. You never get to drink."

Kurt threw him a sideways glance that told it all. Blaine knew that face- his boyfriend's eyes wider than usual, one corner of his mouth almost frowning- something Blaine had seen when Kurt hadn't been pleased with the Warbler's song choice or something Blaine was doing he couldn't immediately call him out on.

"Okay, okay. You're the driver." He had turned to the bartender, pushing his wallet forward with a finger. "Just give me a glass of whatever you recommend."

And that had been that.

* * *

><p><em>Think we kissed but I forgot<em>

Things get really fuzzy after that- strong tastes and lots of movement and loud whooping. Blaine can remember the smell of alcohol and the rotten taste in his mouth, but he can't remember what he actually did. He danced. He grabbed random dance partners. He spun around like some kind of drunk maniac.

It's Kurt he wants to remember, but his boyfriend never plays into his snippets of memory. Maybe he ditched him, and that's why Kurt left without him.

But wait- it's there, on the tip of his memory but not quite fully realized. He felt the tip of Kurt's tongue with his, running his tongue over his boyfriend's lips and cheek and tongue. He spent the most time with the tongue, and it responded back, not meek and unsexy but as hungry as Blaine felt. Their mouths interlocked for what felt like a century, and Blaine never wants it to end because it's the most amazing feeling he's ever had. It felt like consummation, like they both really have been dating for over half a year. It was the most intense kiss Blaine had ever been part of, but that's all he can remember. A rough tongue, hard teeth, the soft inside of Kurt's mouth.

There's nothing about their bodies or eyes or anything, just the orgasmic make-out session. And nothing about why Kurt would have left him alone on a park bench.

* * *

><p><em>Last Friday night <em>

Blaine's head hurts now, from both the hangover and the stress of trying to remember exactly what the hell had happened the night before. He recognizes where he is, though, which is a good sign. It will take a while, but he'll be able to make it to Kurt's house on foot, he notes, trying to remember how long the journey takes by car and translating it to walking time. At least it's nice outside because he couldn't make it otherwise, not in his state.

Even though he's no athlete and his hangover isn't helping matters, it's not going to be a day long trip. An hour at the most. Maybe. It's hard to calculate, his brain exhausted. Maybe a couple of hours, because he's not making good time? Nah, probably an hour or less. He wasn't making good time before because he was fucking lost and was just wandering around.

An hour is good; it's great. He'll have time to think and hopefully remember more, so he's not coming up on Kurt's house in a couple of minutes flustered and tongue-tied and with no idea what he's walking into. It's not so long he'll have to break down and call his family or hitchhike or do something else stupid. And he wants his talk with Kurt to be more personal, and, besides, who wants to apologize for stuff they don't remember over the phone? It's not like he's lost or scared.

And he has an hour.

* * *

><p><em>Yeah we maxed our credit cards<em>

Blaine suddenly feels at his pocket, remembering his wallet and praying he didn't get or stolen or left it on the bar counter…

It's there, though. It's there, but all of his money is gone and he knows it wasn't stolen.

Even with drinks half off, the pay had added up. He had one, then two, then three, then bought one for Kurt and the guys he danced with after Kurt wandered off. He was so drunk that he had to lay on the counter when he counted out his money, the bartender tapping his foot and giving him an impatient look.

"I can't give you any more." He sighed. "If you're too drunk to count then you don't need any more."

"No, Blaine whined, holding a wad of ones out, "not for me. For him." He gestured behind him at the guy he had just finished dancing with.

"What about your boyfriend? He okay with this?"

"Oh yeah," Blaine had slurred. "He's over there. See?"

"Well, I see why he didn't want you to come alone."

Blaine laughed, but he knew the bartender was right.

* * *

><p><em>And got kicked out of the bar. So we hit the boulevard<em>

Sweat poured down Blaine's back, and his vision was fuzzy, but it didn't stop him from noticing who Kurt was sitting with. He had been dancing with some guy who was even drunker than he was for over ten minutes, but it only took him a second to pull away and stumble over to Kurt, stopping next to his table and trying to find the words to say what he was thinking.

Kurt didn't look up. "Hey, Blaine. Dave here had been doing great since he transferred."

David Karofsky. Blaine clenched his fists. Not him.

"You been having fun?" Kurt asked, still not raising his eyes to look at Blaine.

Blaine got the horrible feeling that his boyfriend was mocking him. It was because of Karofsky. It had to be. Alcohol muddled his brain and made his skin crawl, and he raised his clenched fist and drew back his hand.

"Hey," Kurt put his hand over Blaine's, standing and finally looking him in the eye, "I want to go home. Dad will worry if I'm out too much longer." He wrapped an arm around Blaine, and it calmed him immensely. He leaned back against his boyfriend and cooed.

Kurt felt soft and warm as they headed out, and Blaine wanted to touch him more, feel his hair and skin and clothes as he dragged him out the door. All anger forgotten, everything felt right and amazing. Kurt kept prying Blaine's hands off, but Blaine couldn't understand why. He was lowered into the car, but he didn't want to stop touching Kurt and he clung to him, dragging them both onto the seat.

That was when they kissed, Kurt's body over Blaine's and his legs spread on either side of him. Just this time Blaine remembers the specifics, the way their hands roamed, Blaine's making its way under Kurt's shirt. Blaine wasn't thinking, he ran his other hand to his boyfriend's pants and fiddled with the clasp. It was time. He knew it was.

Then the door slammed open and Kurt's weight was gone, replaced by screaming.

"Blaine!"

Blaine blinked. "C'mon, Kurt."

"Blaine! If we do it now you won't even remember it in the morning."

"Yeah I will. I love you, Kurt. I'll remember," he blubbered.

Kurt's eyes were hurt. "You love me _now_. Earlier tonight you were all for dancing with other guys."

It was Blaine's turn to storm up, shooting Kurt a hard look as he hurried past him. This was too far. "It was just for fun. You know I love you. I just wanted to do something fun and spontaneous!"

He didn't stop storming off, either, Kurt's pleas to come back lost on his ears.

* * *

><p><em>Last Friday night <em>

Blaine grimaces at the memory, trying to understand how he could be so stupid, even drunk. On top of hurting his boyfriend, he stalked off. He can't remember where he went, but it was probably somewhere where Kurt couldn't locate him, and it was probably somewhere by that park he woke up at.

In spite of everything, he feels a bit better remembering what happened. Even though it sucks, it's better than some of the stuff that had run through his head when he had been trying to remember. It's repairable if he goes and apologizes to Kurt in person. He wills himself to go faster, almost stumbling over his feet. All of the important stuff is a memory now, not a mystery. All he wants is to apologize for being so stupid and hug his boyfriend against him and kiss and make up.

At this point, he has less than thirty minutes left.

* * *

><p><em>We went streaking in the park; skinny dipping in the dark. Then had a ménage a trios<em>

Blaine didn't have a clue where he was going. As soon as he had escaped Kurt in a hard-to-follow zigzag of a path he realized that he had no idea where he was. He hadn't been in the area surrounding the bar much before, and it looked even more unfamiliar in his drunken haze. He stopped, looking around and wondering if maybe he should just go back to Kurt when he heard a voice.

"Blaine!"

It reminded him of a more pleasant version of when Kurt yelled at him, and it made him flinch.

"I saw you run off, and I wondered if maybe you and that little boyfriend of yours were in a tiff."

It was Sebastian.

"Kind of," Blaine said doubtfully, unsure of if he wanted to talk to the new lead Warbler at the moment.

"I was just wondering if," he dropped his voice, "you wanted to hang out with me."

Blaine opened his mouth, about to say no, when a thought hit him. Sebastian had recommended the bar to him. He knew where he was going.

"Okay."

Everything is just a blur after that, crazy and rushed and full of cold water and wandering hands, though he can't remember whose. It's fuzzy and distorted and ruined by alcohol, and Blaine can't say he's too worried about it.

* * *

><p><em>Last Friday night. Yeah, I think we broke the law. Always say we're gonna stop. Whoa-oh-oah<em>

Two fake I.D.'s. That was all it had taken to have that crazy night. That was how they had gotten in. It hadn't been Blaine Anderson and Kurt Hummel who had snuck into the bar. It had been Edward Abbott and Felix Louis.

Blaine fishes through his pocket, his fingers hitting a plastic card. This is it. Edward Abbott is almost 22. In light of everything he doesn't want to pull it out, but he can't bring himself to throw it away, either. He pulls his hand from it slowly, eyes to the ground, wondering if Kurt still had his. Blaine is almost at his house by now. He recognizes the street. It's where they had finalized their plans only the day before.

"I got them!" Blaine had called as he burst into Kurt's room.

Kurt had gasped, grabbing for his I.D. and feeling its weight in his hand. "Where?"

Blaine laughed. "I asked Puck."

"Oh." Kurt shrugged. "Makes sense. We'll have to be careful about this, you know. If my dad finds out I'll never be able to see you again."

Blaine rested his head on Kurt's arm, using his thumb to pet his boyfriend, "It'll be all right. We're only going to use these to go to this one place, and we've already told him we're going on a date."

They had both smiled, interlocking hands.

Standing outside Kurt's door, Blaine puts a hand to his forehead at the memory. What if Kurt had told Burt? Thinking about it, he almost backs off. But he needs to get his car, and he needs to talk to Kurt.

He rings the doorbell.

* * *

><p><em>This Friday night. Do it all again. This Friday night. Do it all again~<em>

Kurt answers the door, and Blaine's stomach unclenches at the sight. He's been scared it would be Burt, and that maybe he would be mad. Blaine knows how Kurt's dad gets when he thinks his son has come to some harm, and the thought makes Blaine shiver. If that was the case, he would probably never be allowed to see his boyfriend again.

After his moment of relief, it fades into another clenched-stomach feeling. Kurt's face gives nothing away, and Blaine doesn't know what to say or do, how to react. Is Kurt mad? Upset?

All he says is, "I was looking for you." His face is impassive, like he's trying too hard to look angry, but his eyes betray that he's been worried.

Blaine forces a smile, trying to look natural, "I was looking for you, too." A beat. "Can I come in?"

Kurt looks him over, the nods, expression aloof, "I think we should go to my room."

It's good. The delay it makes having to walk through the halls and up the stairs gives Blaine the time he needs to think, to form his apology. By the time they have reached their destination Blaine has formed the words, and they all come out in a rush.

"I'm sorry if I upset you last night. I was being an idiot, and I drank too much. The whole trip was a stupid idea. Can you forgive me?" He speaks so fast he's not breathing, and he can't breathe afterward, either.

Not until Kurt replies, voice and face finally showing the emotion he'd been holding back. "I was just so worried about you, worried you'd gotten lost or kidnapped or run over or something. That's more important than out… stupid fight."

He falls into Blaine's arms and they kiss, an even better one than the one from the night before. In comparison, that was sloppy and drunken and wet, too rushed and blurred.

And by the next morning, Blaine isn't regretting his crazy night any more.


End file.
